


Monochrome Wasteland

by TRASHCAKE



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Artists, Biting, Comeplay, Fisting, Hair-pulling, M/M, Psychological Horror, Romance, Smut, Surreal, Top Kyungsoo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-13
Updated: 2015-06-13
Packaged: 2018-04-04 05:27:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4126912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TRASHCAKE/pseuds/TRASHCAKE
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kyungsoo dreams in shades of black and white. Jongin is that splash of colour.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Monochrome Wasteland

_Kyungsoo’s dreams are a work of art._

_A hand guides him as he smears paint across a canvas. It dictates the texture, the colours, the image. It’s an out of body experience, he watches himself create piece after piece._

_It’s cold._

_Kyungsoo is a fish in a fish bowl. But there’s always a face staring at him, tapping at the glass._

_When he wakes, he recreates what he sees in his dreams, hands on autopilot; crafting a monochrome wasteland._

✄✄✄

“I like this one,” says Jongin. He’s at Kyungsoo’s studio again. There’s dried plaster caked into his fingers, solidified underneath his nails. Jongin is a sculptor, Kyungsoo’s only attachment from their art school. He seems to be experimenting with a new medium.

“The colours are completely different to your last work.”

Kyungsoo squints “I paint in monochrome.” He says deadpan, tucking his favourite brush behind his left ear- a habit, formed in art school and hard to break. He remembers the first time Jongin saw him do it, the way he laughed at the grey smear on Kyungsoo’s cheek. The way he picked up a rag to wipe it off. 

“Yeah, but this time the greys are more yellow based, it’s a warmer tone. I don’t feel quite so depressed looking at it.” He grins, and a chunk of plaster cracks from his neck and falls to the floor. It blends in with the paint splatters on the hardwood, lost, forgotten. 

“You misunderstand the meaning of my works, Kim Jongin.” He says, eyes back on the piece he’s working on. Kyungsoo has no idea what Jongin is talking about; it’s the same colour, texture and feeling as the last piece. The design has changed, of course. From the bridge he sees from his window, to the interior of his apartment. 

It’s ordinary, purely because Kyungsoo refuses to paint the extraordinary. There’s art in everything if you look for it, and Kyungsoo sees it. They tell him that it’s a gift, that he can see what others cannot. But it’s maddening, overwhelming. He’ll blink and find inspiration, dull monochrome dancing behind his eyelids but fluttering open to reveal a world of vivid technicolour. 

The contrast is extreme. He hates it. This is not a gift. It’s a curse.

“I think I see a face in this one,” Jongin’s voice breaks into Kyungsoo’s thoughts, “right there, in the corner.”

“I don’t paint people.” he says, deadpan. And it’s true; past life drawing in art school, not once has Kyungsoo attempted to re-create the human form.

“But see, there. It’s a face. He’s smiling.” Jongin urges. “Maybe you’re lonely, so you’ve subconsciously painted a friend.” His grin is salacious. 

“You know I hate it when people analyse my work like that,” sighs Kyungsoo. He doesn’t dignify Jongin’s accusations by regarding the corner in question. “And I don’t need friends.”

“Explain me.” Says Jongin, and he’s wiping the grey from Kyungsoo’s face again, smearing the oil paint onto his plaster covered pants. 

He pauses for a moment. “I can’t.” 

Jongin doesn’t bother to respond, instead bending down and brushing Kyungsoo’s paint matted fringe across his forehead. “Can’t or won’t?” He asks, lips close to the skin.

“Both.” Kyungsoo replies shakily. Jongin places gentle kisses down the slope of his neck; slow, soft, lovingly. Jongin is more attached than Kyungsoo can allow himself to be, but he drowns in the sensations. The paintbrush behind his ear clatters to the floor and Jongin draws away.

“I’m going to borrow your shower.” He says from the doorway. “Try and find that face.”

Jongin’s left remnants of plaster on the floor, in the still-drying paint on Kyungsoo’s neck and in his hair.

Jongin leaves remnants of himself all throughout Kyungsoo’s life; physical, emotional, superficial.

He’s woven himself into Kyungsoo’s very being, and he sits and wonders how it happened. How an art college acquaintance became something more. 

The water rushes through the pipes in his apartment and Kyungsoo closes his eyes, imagining. 

Plaster flaking off, dissolving in the heat. Cloudy water staining the tiles in his bathroom. White flecks dying on mouldy ceramics, only to dissolve again the next time the water runs. White streaks dripping down Jongin’s body; leaving thicker trail of colour, a more vibrant white than the rest of the water as he rinses the plaster from his hair.

Kyungsoo is hit with a sudden muse, and he flings his half finished painting to the floor, not caring about the still wet paint or the damage to the design. 

He still has one canvas left, it’s larger that what he’s used to working with. But it’s perfect, oh so perfect.

He doesn’t think about what the critics will say, that Do Kyungsoo has finally painted the human form. All he can focus on is the muse, the need to paint, to get the image in his mind from thoughts to canvas.

It will be a faceless form, he thinks, madly smearing the paint onto the canvas. The greys, whites and blacks blend together to create the image. It won’t look like Jongin, but he will know. Kyungsoo won’t know, doesn’t know what this means. He’s been hit with a desire to paint that’s almost aggressive, passionate, needy. 

Kyungsoo doesn’t need a reference because he knows Jongin’s body from memory. Every dip, curve, the shape of his thighs, the line of his jaw, the plush of his lips.

He isn’t painting with his usual calm demeanour, already aware of which colours and textures will combine to create the greatest impact, working on autopilot. He’s rash, passionate and raw. 

It is so unlike Kyungsoo, and if he wasn’t so absorbed by the need to create art he’d be almost terrified.

The painting is almost finished by the time Jongin has finished his shower,with only the white droplets dripping across the torso needing to be painted, perfected.

Jongin appears in the doorway, towel-clad and still dripping.

Kyungsoo takes one look at him before tossing his paint brush to the side. He walks briskly to the entryway, running his paint covered hands across the bronze skin of Jongin’s torso. He raises an eyebrow and says nothing.

Kyungsoo pounces, kissing him passionately, uncharacteristically. Jongin responds immediately, threading his hands into the monochrome mess of Kyungsoo’s hair and pulling.

They rarely kiss; a symbol of attachment, defining. But this time he finds Jongin’s tongue and sucks; Jongin just tightens his grip on Kyungsoo’s hair and pulls, shifting his mouth away to mouth at the soft skin of Kyungsoo’s neck.

He has this fascination with it, the way it bruises and colours, the way it yields to his teeth, the suction of his lips. The way Kyungsoo arches and stretches, exposing more skin, the way he pants softly.

Kyungsoo curls his hands into fists in the hair at Jongin’s nape; the paint on his fingers blending into a muted grey as he pushes his face deeper into the junction of his neck. 

He’s whining needily, something he’s never done, a passion he’s never shown freely. 

Jongin barely reacts, opening his mouth wider and biting down hard, increasing the pressure of his teeth as Kyungsoo keens. His hands trail down Jongin’s bare back, scratching and clawing, leaving his own mark.

Jongin retracts his mouth, tugging none too gently on his arm and trying to lead him down the hallway to the bedroom. Kyungsoo stumbles behind him, hindering his movements, running his hands through the paint on Jongin’s chest, throwing his towel to the floor, sucking his own marks into Jongin’s neck. 

He’s unbothered by it, wanting to draw out Kyungsoo’s uncharacteristic inhibition on the mattress in Kyungsoo’s room. He wants to watch his face, take it nice and slow while feeling the soft puffs of air he breathes against his ear.

A bare torso presses against his back and Jongin wonders how Kyungsoo had removed his clothes without him noticing. He’s hard, erection pressing against Jongin’s lower back and he stumbles. 

The situation becomes less and less like Kyungsoo as time passes. 

Usually Jongin has to work for this, for a Kyungsoo so drunk on lust that he forgets himself. Has to draw him out of his shell with hands and lips and teeth. 

He can’t take it anymore.

Kyungsoo finds himself pressed up against the walls in the corridor with Jongin’s fingertips pressing patterns of paint into the soft skin of his upper thigh. He wraps his legs around Jongin’s bare waist and their kisses become messy, sloppy. Kyungsoo pulls at Jongin’s bottom lip with his teeth and Jongin darts his tongue out to meet his. A softer gesture. 

“Jesus, Soo.” Jongin breathes into his mouth. He’s overwhelmed by the sensations, the paint smearing across their torsos. Kyungsoo’s pure need.

“Stop talking.” comes Kyungsoo’s reply as he tightens his legs harder, grinding them together slowly. Jongin traces his tongue along his ear, lifting Kyungsoo off the wall and continuing towards the room, slowly, unhurriedly, mouths never disconnecting and hands dragging across skin and through paint. 

Jongin lays Kyungsoo on the bed, moaning softly as he switches positions quickly, Kyungsoo’s ass brushing his erection teasingly as he bites his way down Jongin’s neck and chest, avoiding the splotches of white, grey and black. Kyungsoo wants to fill his mouth with the taste of Jongin’s skin rather than the pungent oil of his paint.

Kyungsoo teases, mouths around the head of Jongin’s cock, listens for the harsh breathing and hitches when he does something particularly right. He flicks his tongue and presses his finger into Jongin’s thighs, his hips, his perineum.

Jongin’s hands are resting on the back of his neck, and Kyungsoo brings them to his hair, an invitation. Jongin groans out loud, gripping Kyungsoo’s hair tightly until he keens around his cock and thrusts gently. He builds momentum, and he knows Kyungsoo, he knows that he’s getting off on this as much as he is. Kyungsoo grinds against the sheets and it adjusts the angle and Jongin slips deeper into his throat. 

He pulls off, but doesn’t remove his hands from Kyungsoo’s hair, pulling on it harshly so his neck arches backwards, breathing heavy. Jongin drags him upwards, hands slick with a mess of grey paint and bites again into his neck, this time on the opposite side. 

He too is an artist, and he has a thing for symmetry. 

He releases his grip, and Kyungsoo watches on as Jongin wipes his hands on the sheets, removing Kyungsoo’s superficial marks from his skin. The marks on his neck are still there, and he aches to make more. He takes Kyungsoo’s hands gently, and with the sheets he wipes the paint accumulating there too, kissing each finger gently, running his tongue over the pads. 

Jongin warms lubrication between his fingers before pressing two in. He knows Kyungsoo’s body as well as he knows his own. He knows what he likes, loves. What he can take. He lowers his head to the tip of Kyungsoo’s cock, sliding his mouth around the tip, as he slowly inserts a third finger. Kyungsoo’s back arches slightly off the bed, hair stuck to the pillow with his arm draped across his face.

“You ready?” Jongin asks, face resting against Kyungsoo’s thigh. 

“Yeah--” He pants. “But let me--” and with that he drags Jongin up the bed, straddling him. With a hand around the base of Jongin’s cock he sinks down with familiarity. His body welcomes it, craves it and for a moment he just sits there, enjoying the feeling of Jongin inside him, dragging his hands from Jongin’s hips to his hands where he grasps them loosely. 

He moves. Rocking slowly at first, taking his time. He looks at Jongin, he licks his lips and Jongin groans, bucking upwards. 

“No.” Kyungsoo breathes “No.” 

He picks up the pace a little, gripping Jongin’s hand tighter with the increase and moaning against his ear. Kyungsoo is louder than usual, still not loud by any means but Jongin is unused to hearing anything from Kyungsoo apart from the softest of sighs.

Sometimes he thinks that Kyungsoo doesn’t want him as much as he wants Kyungsoo.That their relationship is undefined because he’s a convenience, an outlet. But times like this, Jongin feels like there’s more to them. Undefined, purely because they can’t be defined at all.

Kyungsoo leans forward to kiss him, hands still stretched over Jongin’s head and he keeps his eyes open to watch as Jongin’s eyelashes flutter before closing his eyes and losing himself to the sensation of Jongin on his lips, in him, around him.

A thrust at the wrong angle has Jongin’s cock slipping out, and Kyungsoo wastes no time in sinking back onto it, taking him in fully, completely all in one swift movement. The bed creaks and Jongin gasps and Kyungsoo runs his nails down Jongin’s chest, not caring about the drying paint caking under his nails as he rocks and bounces harder. 

Jongin’s release builds quickly, completely at the mercy of Kyungsoo as he rides him, clenching and unclenching, watching his face. Back lifting off the mattress as he comes, he hears Kyungsoo whine.

He’s so close, so so close, and the arch of Jongin’s back had shifted his cock into just the right place, orgasam building before being wrenched away. 

Not bothering to bathe in the afterglow Jongin pushes Kyungsoo off him, attaching his mouth to his cock and swallowing down as much as he can, fingers sliding into his stretched hole and scissoring slightly. Cum starts to seep out and Jongin gathers it with his fingers before pushing back in, the sensation making Kyungsoo gasp before coming in Jongin’s mouth and around his fingers. 

 

Jongin moves to lie beside Kyungsoo on the bed, wrapping his arms around the other. Usually, he pulls away, not one for physical contact. But today Kyungsoo rests his head on Jongin’s chest and allowing him to play with his paint soaked hair. He makes a face at the taste of come in Jongin’s mouth when he tries to kiss him, but gives in anyway; soft, gentle, languid. A slight press of lips before Jongin lets out a content sigh, leaning back into the ruined covers and falling asleep in the afterglow.

Kyungsoo doesn’t allow himself the same luxury. He has a painting to finish. As soon as Jongin’s breath evens out he slips out of the protective hold, pausing for a moment to admire his sleeping form; how the paint still sticks to his skin. 

Jongin is part of Kyungsoo’s masterpiece.

Sliding underwear up his legs and padding quietly down the hall, he feels the fuel of his muse rising up once more. Just one last thing to paint, one more detail. Using his thinnest brush he runs faint lines down the grey form on his canvas. Faint, murky, delicate against the darker hues and thicker textures of his piece. 

He sits back and admires his work. It’s stunning, the best he’s ever done. The critics will look at his work and try to understand him, his motivations, his mind. But there is no reason for this piece, for any of his pieces. He simply takes the ordinary and turns it into art.

Looking down at the paint splattered floor, Kyungsoo notices his discarded canvas, a work of art he has lost motivation for. A useless mess of gradient colours. It lies face down on the floor, and he moves to upturn it so that it won’t stick.

He still pointedly ignores that corner, the one where Jongin saw a face. 

Kyungsoo knows what he’d find there, anyway.

 

✄✄✄

 

_There is no art in Kyungsoo’s dreams. He is in a monochrome wasteland, a mess of colour. It resembles the ruined piece from the day before._

_He sees the face. It’s the same face he always sees. It warps; the fish bowl effect washing over him, overwhelming him._

_The hands are back, guiding him, pushing him, holding him._

_It’s cold._

_The face, the hands pull them both from the wasteland and into reality._

✄✄✄

There’s light filtering through the curtains but that’s not what wakes him. There’s a form above his body, not touching him, not pressing weight into the mattress beside his head. 

It’s not Jongin, he knows this for sure. Jongin’s lips would be on his neck by now, softly grinding their hips together, a lazy ‘good morning’ whispered in his ear. 

Jongin isn’t beside him in bed either; he stretches his arm out and the bed is cold.

“Go away.” He mumbles, “I thought you were sick of being here,” He doesn’t want to open his eyes. He doesn’t want to see the face, now attached to a body and out of his dreams.

“I’m always here.” It’s been so long since Kyungsoo has heard that voice, so long he thought he’d never hear it again. “You just can’t see me.”

He opens his eyes. He’s nose to nose with the figure above his bed, the muse from his dreams.

“You should really wear a condom you know.” Kyungsoo looks to the side of the room, trying to avoid his eyes. Those big, round eyes. “You have no idea where his dick has been.”

“In me.” Is Kyungsoo’s reply, and he finally finds the strength to push him off. 

“That is not the way to treat an old friend.” He says, pouting. Kyungsoo ignores it, opting instead to dress himself. He picks a fresh shirt; black. Cheap. No paint stains. He likes to ruin them with splashes of paint. 

Like he’s ruined Jongin.

“I’d hardly call us friends, Luhan.” He replies. “You live in my dreams and then stalk me.”

“I do nothing of the sort!” Says Luhan from above Kyungsoo’s head. He seems to float, effortlessly. 

He alters his form on a whim; phasing through Kyungsoo at some points, appearing solid at others. Sometimes he exists in a mixture of both, hands sinking into Kyungsoo’s skin but going no further. 

His hands are always cold. 

Luhan exists in reality when he pleases, and in Kyungsoo’s dreams always. For all intents and purposes, Luhan is his muse. He is the hands, the face, the guide to his movements. 

He doesn’t know who or what Luhan is.

“Why are you here?” Kyungsoo asks. His body aches slightly from the night spent with Jongin, tired from the time he spent finishing the painting. 

He heads for the door but Luhan blocks his way. 

No matter how many times he’s seen Luhan, how many dreams or interactions in reality, he remains just as scared of him. The hands that control him are reaching out towards him and Kyungsoo flashes back to muted greys and textured blacks and desolate dreams.

“I didn’t help you paint that work yesterday.” He says, reaching down to run his finger down Kyungsoo’s neck. He shivers at the cold, the hand that sinks into the skin. “I thought I was your muse.”

“Can’t I paint something you don’t show me?” Kyungsoo asks, breathless. Luhan’s grip tightens.

“That’s not how it works.” Luhan retracts his hand and the warmth seeps back into Kyungsoo’s skin.

“You don’t need him. The man you painted. He’s clingy, he’ll hinder your work. I’m the one who inspires it.” He blinks down at Kyungsoo innocently. It’s unsettling. “You only need me.”

Monochrome bleeds into Kyungsoo’s vision. Luhan’s already pale skin is a stark white as his apartment turns into bleak greys and harsh blacks. The final thing he sees before being sucked into the darkness is Luhan’s pupils.

But there’s a rush of light, memories of the previous night replay in front of his very eyes. 

Only it’s not from his point of view. He stands in the corner watching himself on top of Jongin, how he looks riding him, how Jongin’s cock disappears into his ass. The way he holds onto Jongin for dear life and how he kisses him softly in the aftermath.

He feels his fists clench but they feel unfamiliar; the fingers are too long, slender,the palm too wide. 

They are not his hands. 

There’s a blur as time travels once more, like a film on fast forward. Kyungsoo sees his sleeping form automatically seeking out Jongin’s warmth, how Jongin will draw him against his chest. At one point, Jongin is awake and does nothing but watch him sleeping for a moment, playing with his hair before settling into the covers once more. 

Dawn breaches and Jongin is awake with the sun. He never stays and Kyungsoo doesn’t expect him to; they’re artists and Jongin has just as much work to complete as he does. 

What Kyungsoo doesn’t expect is to watch Jongin press a chaste kiss on his sleeping form’s mouth, thumbs running along his cheeks as he exhales a shaky _I love you_ into the seam of Kyungsoo’s mouth. He breathes in the words unknowingly as he sleeps. 

Jongin leaves the room quietly, throwing a longing look over his shoulder as he leaves.

Colour bleeds back into Kyungsoo’s vision. He feels shorter, he no longer sees what Luhan sees. Disorientated he falls back onto the bed, head in his hands with palms pressing into his eyes. The light dances behind them, monochrome.

“He loves me?” Asks Kyungsoo shakily. 

“See! I told you!” Luhan yells triumphantly, “You’re more concerned about his feelings than your art. He’s going to ruin you.”

He ignores Luhan. Kyungsoo is still trying to take into the situation, the sudden rush of emotion, affection. He runs his fingers across one of the bite marks on his shoulder; pressing at the bruise with a shuddering breath. 

“Stop thinking about him when you’re with me!” Luhan yells as he suddenly abandons his corporeal form, and he sits on Kyungsoo, in Kyungsoo, through Kyungsoo. 

It’s cold. 

“You think you need him, but you don’t.” Fingers drag through the skin his arm, Luhan straddling his thighs. Icy lips press against his. 

“I don’t need you, either.” Kyungsoo stands quickly, moving away from the sheer cold. “I don’t need anyone.” 

“That hurts you know. I help you create masterpieces.” He’s close again, eyes so close to Kyungsoo’s that he can feel the drag of his eyelashes as he blinks.

“I can paint masterpieces without your help.” He keeps pulling away. Luhan won’t stop following him. Kyungsoo walks through Luhan, through the door and into his studio. 

“Look at this,” He yells at Luhan as he appears in the doorway, he stands where Jongin stood the night before. He stands the same way. Kyungsoo still remembers the taste of his skin. “This is incredible. And I did it all on my own. None of your fish bowl bullshit!”

“It’s a sad life, your monochrome wasteland.” Luhan says, ignoring Kyungsoo completely. “I’m just here to spice things up a bit.”

“I have Jongin for that.” Is Kyungsoo’s reply. It’s the closest he’s ever gotten to admitting he likes having him around, that Jongin has become a staple in his life.

Kyungsoo’s not sure if he ever wants him to leave. 

“That’s not okay.” Luhan seems like he read Kyungsoo’s thoughts, and he’s almost certain that he has. “That’s why I’m here.”

“I don’t want you here.” Kyungsoo says as icy lips drag down his neck, over the marks Jongin made, as if trying to erase them.

“I’m always here.” Says Luhan. “I’m your muse.” He fades away, and for a moment, all colour does too.

 

✄✄✄

Kyungsoo waits all day for Luhan’s hands to grip his own, to find a surface to paint on and to create.

It never happens. 

Luhan doesn’t reappear at all but Kyungsoo can feel eyes and hands on him, can feel a presence behind him, fingers and lips and cold trailing his skin.

He’s trying to take Jongin’s place but it’s not working. 

In an act of subtle defiance, Kyungsoo paints over the old canvas, the one with Luhan’s face in the corner, in harsh, dark tones. It’s angry; vertical strips of paint and harsh colour. Nothing blends seamlessly; there’s streaks of black marring the grey. All the colours are one, completely.

Though in the middle of the piece, there is a single circle of white flat, pristine white. He thins the oil using methylated spirits and lets the colour seep outwards. 

“He could never make you paint like this.” Whispers Luhan from the nape of his neck. He still hasn’t made himself visible. Luhan is merely a soft whisper and a puff of cold against his skin. “Only I can make you paint like this.”

“This painting is as much Jongin as that one over there.” He waves his hand flippantly. 

Luhan’s pupils appear again and Kyungsoo is dragged through years of memories; days he spent in bed, too exhausted from nights and mornings spent with Jongin to paint. Of all the times he abandoned a piece to run his hands through Jongin’s hair as he sank to his knees, discarding pants on a paint spattered floor as he swallows him down. 

“He’s not as wonderful as you think he is.” Luhan’s voice echos in the swirls of grey.

Kyungsoo is standing in his kitchen.His eyes adjust to the scene in front of him. Jongin is speaking into his phone, underwear clad and making coffee. 

_“Oh God, you should have seen him last night.”_ Says Jongin in the memory. _“He was practically hanging off my dick, just gagging for it.”_

 _“Feelings?”_ He laughs, _“Of course not. He’s the best fuck I’ve ever had. Tightest ass. Gorgeous too.”_

 _“I’m not bragging.”_ He tells the person on the other end of the line.

 _“Okay I’m kinda bragging.”_ He laughs again, stirring sugar into the mug. It’s the one he always uses when he’s over.

_“But yeah. Turns out that quiet, Van Gogh wannabe Do Kyungsoo is a needy cumslut. Who knew?”_

The memory fades, and the first thing that he sees is the striking black line through the white circle. He sighs, picking up his alcohol soaked rag, wiping it off and making to start it again.

“You should probably flashback to when I called Baekhyun and bragged too.” He says flippantly, eyes never leaving the canvas. He has no idea if Luhan is visible or not. “Or that time when he actually did call me all of that during sex. I liked it. Maybe I should ask him to do it again.”

He pauses momentarily. “I guess Van Gogh wannabe hurts a little. But then again, I’ve never been fond of sculpture.”

He stands, stretching. There’s a mess of paint all over his clothes, his bare feet, his face and hair. 

“I’m gonna go wash this off before Jongin gets here. Sticky paint sex was fun last night but I’m running out of sheets.” The paint brush behind his ear clatters to the floor, as Kyungsoo walks towards the bathroom. He misses Luhan picking up the discarded brush, placing it in the small cup of alcohol sitting beside the easel. 

✄✄✄

The paint washes off Kyungsoo’s body is monochrome droplets. He’s seeing in reality the image he created in his head, it’s not as awe inspiring. It’s not Jongin. 

Luhan appears in front of him, corporeal. He doesn’t touch. He just stands there, and the water bounces off him as if repelled. Suddenly, he’s sliding into where Kyungsoo is standing, the hot water feeling ice cold where Luhan’s body phases through his. 

“What are you doing?” He asks, shivering slightly. 

“I just wanted to feel you.” Luhan whispers, beside his ear. “I wanted to feel you completely.”

“That’s fucking creepy,” Cold hands slide down his back. “Stop touching me.” 

“Jongin touches you all the time.” Luhan replies right into his ear. With that he floats away, observing Kyungsoo from above.

“Will you be watching tonight?” Asks Kyungsoo, turning off the shower and towelling himself down. He knows the answer. 

“I’m always watching.” And with that he floats away, image fading, Completely black eyes disappearing at the final moment. 

✄✄✄

Kyungsoo wears clothes purely so Jongin can rip them off him. He’s going to put on a show for Luhan, he’s getting a little sick of Luhan’s possessiveness. Kyungsoo is an artist, he’s drawn and painted and created without him before, and he is capable of doing so again. 

There’s a knock on the door and Kyungsoo all but runs to unlock it. Jongin has showered, removed the remnants of plaster from his skin. His hair is still damp and he’s dressed up slightly, like he wanted to look good for Kyungsoo.

Lust runs through his veins as he pulls Jongin in and pushes him against the door, hands immediately sliding under his shirt as he kisses him roughly, moving away to pull the shirt over his head before throwing it onto the floor. 

Jongin pulls at his hair as Kyungsoo sucks marks into his neck, adding fresh bruises to ones he’d left the night before. This time it’s Jongin who pants and groans as nips turn to outright bites, just on the right side of painful.

Gently, he takes Jongin’s earlobe between his teeth and tugs, pausing when he feels his shirt being lifted, ready to join Jongin’s on the floor. Cotton obscures his vision, and when it’s restored all he sees is Jongin’s face, his slick lips as he licks them and he’s pulled into a kiss again, Jongin’s hands grabbing at his ass.

“God, what brought this on?” Jongin pants, breaking for air, yet still bringing Kyungsoo closer so they’re crotch to crotch; chest to chest.

“I want you.” Kyungsoo whines. He’s shameless, cupping Jongin through his jeans, grinding against his thigh. He stares Jongin in the eyes as he groans. “I--- God--- I want you so bad”

Jongin palms his ass, grinding his thigh against Kyungsoo’s crotch.“ Bedroom.” He pants. Kyungsoo keeps trying to follow his mouth for more kisses. “Bedroom, Kyungsoo.”

His eyes are dark, but not like Luhan’s. They’re lustful, commanding. Jongin is nothing like Luhan.

Kyungsoo stumbles through the hall, pushing Jongin against the wall periodically, hastily removing clothes and running his hands along Jongin’s skin.

He pushes Jongin through Luhan’s body as they enter the bedroom, Jongin’s back hitting the mattress as a desperate Kyungsoo touches, kisses and memorises Jongin’s torso.

“Stop doing this to me” Says Luhan. He stands next to the bed, on the verge of tears. His eyes are still black.

Jongin flips them over, pushing Kyungsoo’s arms upwards. He mimics Kyungsoo’s earlier actions; scatters kisses along skin, drags fingertips down the trails he makes with his mouth. 

Kyungsoo looks Luhan in the eyes the entire time.

Jongin reaches Kyungsoo’s cock and slides his lips down the length, no preamble. He pauses briefly to pull Kyungsoo’s legs over his shoulders. The angle is all wrong and he can’t take in as much of his cock as before, but Jongin pulls off slowly, fingers spreading Kyungsoo’s cheeks, thumbs rubbing lightly across his hole.

“I’ve always wanted to do this to you,” Says Jongin, looking Kyungsoo in the eyes. “Can I?” He drags the pad of his thumb along the rim, pressing in slightly. Not enough to breach but just enough pressure to elicit a shaky exhale from Kyungsoo.

“Yes, please, yes.” Kyungsoo is babbling, thighs already shaking around Jongin’s head. 

Jongin doesn’t reply, he pulls his thumb slightly downwards as he dips his tongue into the space that it creates. He laps softly, occasionally pushing in further, teasing, never really going any further. 

Luhan screams in agony, grief. It’s loud, too loud, it’s hurts Kyungsoo’s ears; they ring. 

Kyungsoo turns his head to the side, once more and Luhan is crouching next to the bed, black eyes narrowed and fists clenching into the sheets with tears of rage streaming down his face.

But Jongin finally slides his tongue in deeper and Kyungsoo loses control, disregarding Luhan, focusing solely on Jongin, on the incredible man between his legs. His new muse. 

He groans, out loud and audible. 

It’s mostly because of Jongin’s tongue, deep inside him, pulling out tracing the rim before pushing back in. But there’s something in him that’s getting off on the fact that Luhan is there, watching. Luhan is watching as Kyungsoo falls apart and is rebuilt by Jongin; he is Jongin’s greatest sculpture, Jongin’s greatest work of art. Luhan makes him create, but Jongin, he creates him.

His focus is stolen once again, and Kyungsoo watches as Jongin reaches for the lube, immediately coating two fingers before lowering his face once more, watching closely in fascination as Kyungsoo’s hole sucks two fingers in. 

He spreads them slightly, pushing down and allowing his tongue to slide in alongside them. Kyungsoo just keens, clamping his legs around Jongin’s neck and fisting his hands in his hair.

Luhan clambers onto the bed, sobbing loudly, as he runs his hands through Kyungsoo’s fringe. 

“Don’t, please.” He whimpers. “I thought you belonged to me.”

Kyungsoo just rocks down on Jongin’s fingers and tongue, who does his best to push back on the motions, focusing on the noises coming from Kyungsoo’s mouth. 

It’s raw, pure pleasure. Kyungsoo has never felt this way before. 

Luhan’s black eyes watch as Kyungsoo slips from his hold.

Kyungsoo drops his legs from around Jongin’s neck, grabbing him by the hair and pulling him back. Jongin’s face is slick with saliva and lube and Jongin licks his lips before wiping his face.

“Fuck me.” Kyungsoo breathes. 

“How do you want it?” Jongin replies, fingertips tracing along his thighs. 

“I don’t want it!” Luhan screeches. He tries to push Jongin off Kyungsoo’s body but his hands go straight through. Jongin doesn’t feel the cold. “He’s mine! Mine mine mine mine mine mine!”

One last attempt at keeping Kyungsoo for himself. 

“Fuck me like this.” Kyungsoo breathes, and he stares Luhan straight in the eyes, smirking. Jongin complies, spreading the lube along his cock and pressing in. 

Jongin pauses. He knows Kyungsoo likes to wait a minute before they start, not because he needs to, but because he likes to feel the fullness, because he likes to feel Jongin inside of him.

“What am I to you?” Jongin asks. And Kyungsoo laughs. He’s always had the worst timing. 

He takes Jongin’s face into his hands, kissing him softly, drawing back to rub his thumbs across his cheeks. Jongin’s eyelids flutter closed.

“Everything.” He ignores Luhan’s pained sobbing.

Kyungsoo feels Jongin smile into his neck, beginning to thrust; slow, powerful, holding him up slightly for a different angle and deeper thrust. He raises his head, eye to eye with Kyungsoo, lips brushing slightly. Hands trace skin and tangle in hair. Jongin’s hands drag up his arms, lacing their fingers together. 

Luhan phases into Kyungsoo’s body at the show of affection. Kyungsoo had forgotten about him, too wrapped up in Jongin, his touches, how full he feels. He’s cold. So cold. Kyungsoo’s body clenches around Jongin’s cock from the sudden change in temperature and Jongin groans shakily.

“Who do you want, Kyungsoo?” Luhan sobs in his ear. Jongin increases the pace of his thrusts, hands finding a possessive hold on his hips. Kyungsoo slides his hands into Jongin’s hair.

“Who do you want?” He screeches, and Kyungsoo’s ears ring again. 

He answers, unsure of how loud he is; he can’t hear, only feel but he knows the name that rasps from his throat:

_“Jongin.”_

Luhan disappears, and everything becomes monochrome.

It’s like one of his paintings; there’s texture and dimension where it never existed before. Jongin’s face looks rough, jagged, but as Kyungsoo runs his fingers along cheeks, pulls their lips together for a kiss, it’s soft, flesh like, human.

The sweat on Jongin’s neck is a stark white in comparison to the blacks and greys of his skin, it’s path is staggered, interrupted by the harsh lines and texture. Kyungsoo catches it with his tongue. 

Kyungsoo’s world is a mass of swirling greys, and for the first time Jongin is there with him, becoming one with the art, with the images he sees behind his eyelids every time he blinks.

Jongin’s cock rubs against his walls just right, eyebrows furrowing, one black and one the lightest of greys. Jongin is exactly how Kyungsoo painted him, every detail the same, every line where he placed it. His greatest work of art is here with him, in him. 

His erection slides between their bodies, black precome smearing against the dark grey of his skin. He stares into Jongin’s eyes. They are the purest of white. 

There are hands in his hair, pulling while Jongin’s mouth rests against his adam’s apple. From what Kyungsoo can see, his skin is entirely a dark, cool grey. Beautiful. 

He has become what he paints. 

It is no longer a curse.

“Soo, God.” Jongin’s breath hitches. 

“Come in me.” Kyungsoo begs, colours blending together, swirling. His own textured hands gripping tightly at Jongin’s shoulder blades.

And he does, pulling out slightly so that the final spurts land on Kyungsoo’s hole, his shaking thighs.

Kyungsoo watches as Jongin’s grey fingers sweep the harsh, black come from his skin, a ritual. He presses two fingers inside him, and more black drips over his fingers, spills out.

“More.” Kyungsoo pants, and Jongin presses a third in, the grey of his hands tainted by black. 

“More!” He yells, and Jongin pauses. 

“I’ll need lube for this” He says. He looks into Kyungsoo’s eyes as he licks the black from his fingers, pressing the darkness onto Kyungsoo’s tongue, sealing their lips together and sliding the liquid down his throat. 

Jongin pours a pure white liquid onto his fingers and Kyungsoo watches as it mixes with the black, turning grey, dripping down his hand. 

Three fingers return to his hole, stretching, spreading slightly. Jongin slips a fourth in alongside the others.

“More!” Kyungsoo screams, he watches as the white smears on the dark grey of his thighs. 

Jongin adds his thumb and Kyungsoo sighs blissfully.

“More..” He’s positively breathless by this point, and Jongin presses forward gently, white eyes trained on where his hand disappears into Kyungsoo.

“Is this… is this enough?” Jongin asks, and there’s still black stains on his teeth.

“No!” And it’s both Luhan and Kyungsoo screaming. 

“It’s not enough.” Elaborates Kyungsoo, monochrome vision wavering. He’s full, oh God he’s so full, but he needs more. More of Jongin.

“It’s too much!” Luhan sobs into his ear, pressing cold kisses onto his forehead. 

“We create art” He whispers, to Jongin or to Luhan, he can’t quite tell. 

Jongin begins to move his hand slightly, thrusting into Kyungsoo and stretching his fingers, slowly, slightly, adding to the mess on grey thighs.

Kyungsoo rocks down on his hand, panting loudly, as Jongin begins to curl his hand into a fist, slowly, gently at first, before picking up momentum and thrusting as Kyungsoo  
moans loudly; white dancing behind his eyes before bleeding into blood red.

He ignores it, blinking the colour away.

He comes and spatters of black coat his torso, Jongin withdrawing his hand and lapping at his thighs, his hole, smearing black and grey and white across his face in the afterglow. 

The monochrome fades and the vivid technicolour returns.

Jongin kisses his way up Kyungsoo’s chest, sated, lovingly. He runs his hands along skin, and Kyungsoo clings to him like a lifeline.

They lie together, face to face, noses brushing. Jongin kisses him, threading his hands through Kyungsoo’s hair and licking slowly into his mouth. Kyungsoo is so used to the taste of come on Jongin’s tongue that he ignores it; draping his arms around Jongin’s waist and sighing. 

The whole scene, it’s so domestic.

He likes it. Loves it.

“I love you.” Kyungsoo whispers, after a moment. Soft enough for Jongin to hear. He’s positive Luhan heard it too. 

Jongin’s hand stills. He repeats the motions that Luhan showed Kyungsoo showed him earlier that morning; fingertips tracing down his cheeks, and pressing a soft kiss onto his lips. 

“I love you too” He replies. 

Kyungsoo inhales the words with his next breath.

✄✄✄

_In Kyungsoo’s dreams, there is nothing but white._

_A blank canvas, ready to be transformed._

_Slowly, surely, thick red droplets form, soaking the landscape._

_Soaking Kyungsoo._

_It’s cold._

_The red forms a face, one dimensional, thinly coloured. No texture._

_Jongin smiles at him through the red._  
.  
✄✄✄

Light streams through the curtains, though it’s the mouth on Kyungsoo’s neck, the figure over his body and the hands tracing his sides that awaken him.

“Was last night a dream?” Jongin whispers, like Kyungsoo’s declarations of affection is too good to be true.

“No,” Replies Kyungsoo, running his hands through Jongin’s slightly matted hair, “Of course not.”

“I thought it might have been, considering it’s been my dream for years.” Jongin whispers quietly, unsurely. 

His cheeks darken, a beautiful shade of red. Kyungsoo is entranced. He stills for a moment, admiring the man beside him in bed; stunning, ethereal, a work of art. 

_Red._

“So cheesy,” Kyungsoo laughs, regaining his senses and pushing Jongin off him. 

“But you love it.” He smiles, beautiful, white teeth. Red cheeks. 

“I do.” Says Kyungsoo softly. “I love you.”

Jongin buries his face into Kyungsoo’s neck, and he can feel the smile, the soft flutter of eyelashes against soft skin.

“I love you too.” Kyungsoo is sure he’ll never get sick of hearing those words from Jongin’s mouth.

It’s warm.

There is no trace of Luhan.

✄✄✄

Kyungsoo revels in the domestic bliss; loving Jongin openly, freely, entirely has brought a world of colour back into his senses, his very being. 

He laughs as Jongin tries to cook breakfast, he sighs as Jongin touches him softly; tracing fingertips along bite marks and bruises and mouthing at them slowly as if to apologise for the pain.

In the shower, Jongin stands where Luhan once stood, providing warmth rather than cold, the water sinking into skin and hair instead of repelling it. Jongin doesn’t intrude on Kyungsoo’s life, demanding attention and control. No, Kyungsoo has welcomed Jongin into his bleak existence and offered him a paint brush, a palette with all the colours of the world neatly on display.

Choose a colour.

Jongin had picked red. 

The flush of his skin after the heat of the shower, the colour of his underwear. The blood that drips from his finger after cutting it accidentally while cooking.

Kyungsoo bandages his finger with loving care, placing kisses on the cotton covered wound, discretely smearing the blood on his hands along his bare torso, before washing it off, watching as the red blends with the clear of the water and the white of his sink as it swirls down the drain.

 

_Red red red red red_

✄✄✄

“We should watch a movie.” Says Jongin, his head is in Kyungsoo’s lap, and they’re just lying on the couch, simply enjoying a comfortable silence in each other’s company.

“Wizard of Oz.” Replies Kyungsoo, still stroking Jongin’s neck.

“Classic and wonderful,” Says Jongin as he gets up to retrieve the disc from Kyungsoo’s collection “Just like you.” And he sends a wink over his shoulder. Kyungsoo laughs.

It’s perfect for Kyungsoo, a bleak grey reality upset by a whirlwind before an explosion of colour. Dorothy wears red shoes, and they’re so important, so so important to her journey. They’re what send her home.

Except Kyungsoo is not Dorothy. If he thought of home, it would not be the wasteland crafted for him by Luhan, it would be the passion, the fire, the constant red of Jongin’s presence. 

Idly, in the back of his mind, Kyungsoo begins to understand Luhan, his dominance and his need to possess. 

It’s how Kyungsoo feels about Jongin.

Perhaps he can convince Jongin to make his next piece reflective of their relationship; two souls brought together, puzzle pieces connecting. A perfect match.

Kyungsoo has no plans to stop painting Jongin. 

“Are you okay, you’re spacing out.” Jongin says, returning to his place on Kyungsoo’s lap.

“I’m fine,” Says Kyungsoo idly, “Just planning my next piece.”

“I’m here and all you can think about is art?” Jongin says jokingly, red lips pouting. 

“If it’s any consolation,” Says Kyungsoo as the movie begins, black and white filling his vision. He looks away. “You’re the inspiration for it.”

“Really?” Jongin asks quietly, not wanting to interrupt the dialogue on screen. “You’ve been inspiring my work since I met you.”

Kyungsoo smiles. The film bursts into vivid colour.

✄✄✄

“I was thinking,” Jongin hugs Kyungsoo from behind, hands grasping his hips as he brushes his teeth. There’s a half formed erection pressing into his ass. “Maybe you should top tonight.”

“Oh?” Kyungsoo spits into the sink, leaning forward a little more than he has to, relishing in the slight groan he pulls from Jongin’s mouth. “And why is that?

He rotates his hips slowly, and Jongin increases the pressure of his fingertips, dragging Kyungsoo back towards his crotch. 

“I thought you---” Kyungsoo reaches his hands behind him, cupping Jongin’s erection through his underwear. Jongin gulps. “I thought you might be sore from yesterday and---”

Kyungsoo increases the pressure, and smirks into the mirror as his eyes meet Jongin’s he’s wrecked, tongue flicking against red lips and colour decorating his cheeks, his neck, his ears. He’s beautiful.

“And?” Kyungsoo prompts, unrelenting with his hand, sliding his fingers up and down the shaft through cloth. 

“And I really like it when you top.” Jongin breathes out. 

Kyungsoo turns around, finally, pulling Jongin’s underwear down and sinking to his knees. 

They’ll hurt later, but the red scratches left on him by the unforgiving grout of the bathroom tiles will serve as a superficial reminder of Jongin, of everything about him.

Kyungsoo wastes no time, not bothering with formalities before he takes Jongin’s entire length down in one go, bobbing his head quickly with practiced ease before pulling off and using his saliva and the precome from Jongin’s dick to lubricate the head, jerking him quickly before lowering his mouth once more. 

It’s a sudden change from light teasing to outright pleasure and Jongin is positively shaking and on edge within minutes. They know each other, know each other’s bodies so well that Kyungsoo knows exactly how to rile Jongin up, how to bring him to the brink before tearing him down. 

He pulls off a second time, fisting at Jongin’s cock head again, this time slower. To prolong the pleasure but not to increase it. 

“Maybe we should go to the bedroom?” Jongin pants. Kyungsoo doesn’t release his grip.

“What is it with you and fucking in the bedroom?” He asks, before shifting his hand down slightly, mouth adding suction to the top of Jongin’s dick.

“What is it with you and fucking everywhere but the bedroom?” Jongin asks, breathless. 

Kyungsoo sighs, standing up on sore legs before taking Jongin’s hand with his saliva and precome slicked one. 

“There’s lube in the bedroom” Is Kyungsoo’s response as he drags Jongin down the hallway. 

They kiss, softly, a stark contrast to their previous rounds of sex, taking their time to indulge in soft touches, before Jongin’s fingers slide into the waistband of Kyungsoo’s underwear, mouthing along the bare skin as the cotton slides down his legs. 

Hand in hand, they walk towards Kyungsoo’s bed, Jongin sitting first before Kyungsoo straddles him, arms draped across his shoulders and still kissing, always kissing. 

Jongin breaks away, reaching over to the bedside table, before pressing a bottle of lube into Kyungsoo’s hand. 

He covers fingers in the slippery substance, memory flashing back to the night before; the inverse colours and Luhan’s wails as he watched Kyungsoo break down for Jongin. He idly wonders if he’s still around, watching them, even as he pushes a finger into Jongin.

He sighs, content. They switch often enough that the feeling isn’t foreign, almost a welcome stretch as Kyungsoo adds two, three fingers, twisting and scissoring lightly, before pushing himself inside. 

It starts off slow, hands laced above Jongin’s head, Kyungsoo thrusting shallowly while they just enjoy the intimacy. 

“You can go harder, you know?” Jongin whispers in Kyungsoo’s ear. “We both like it when it hurts a little.”

Kyungsoo stills, smiling down at him sweetly before thrusting back into him as hard as he can manage. Picking up the pace, still with the same smile, he draws groans from Jongin, while making his own into Jongin’s hair.

“C’mon ‘Soo” Jongin says into his ear, biting on the shell, “We both know you can do better than that.”

Kyungsoo pulls out completely pushing Jongin onto his stomach, face planted into the mattress and ass in the air. 

He slaps the skin of his cheeks lightly, and Jongin whimpers slightly. 

“Yeah, you can do that again,” He says, sensing Kyungsoo’s hesitation, “Harder.”

He has no mercy. Kyungsoo spanks Jongin until his own hand stings, alternating between cheeks, his thighs, pausing to drag his nails down Jongin’s spine before starting again. 

He pulls Jongin’s face up from the pillows as he thrusts back into him without warning, watching as drool stretches from the fabric and snaps as Jongin lips his lips. His face is red, becoming redder as Kyungsoo pulls his neck back further, oxygen cutting off slightly. His hips slap against the red, inflamed skin of Jongin’s ass and he whines, face slamming back into the pillows as Kyungsoo drops his head. 

“I’m going to choke you,” he says, pace still unrelenting. “Is that okay?”

“Yes.” Jongin replies, breathless. 

“Turn over.” Kyungsoo demands, pulling out. Jongin follows without question.

“Tap my hand three times if it gets too much.” Kyungsoo says with a kiss to Jongin’s forehead. 

He positions himself once more, resuming his unrelenting pace before placing his thumbs in the dip of Jongin’s throat; he can feel Jongin’s pulse under his fingers, his adam's apple attempting to swallow around the intrusion.

His face goes red. 

Kyungsoo thrusts faster, entranced, pressing slightly harder with his fingers before reducing the pressure so that Jongin may breathe in slightly. Jongin makes no motion to tap at his fingers, instead grabbing at Kyungsoo’s hands and pushing them deeper into his skin. 

Jongin comes like that, untouched, something Kyungsoo had never before been able to manage, and he pulls his hands from around his neck, allowing Jongin to breathe before finishing himself. 

“Can’t we ever have normal sex?” Jongin asks, voice croaky as he rubs at the red marks around his throat.

“Since when have we been normal?” Kyungsoo replies, cuddling up to him. 

They doze in the afterglow.

✄✄✄

_This isn’t a dream, it’s a nightmare._

_He and Jongin walk hand in hand through the reds and the whites of his new canvas._

_The face is still there, but this time, this time it belongs to Luhan._

_He wails and screeches and the black of his eyes cut through all other colour, consuming him, consuming Jongin._

_Kyungsoo has never been so cold in his life._

✄✄✄

The bed is cold when Kyungsoo wakes up. He can hear Jongin preparing coffee for them in the kitchen. He can feel Luhan beside him.

“I thought you left.” Kyungsoo mutters. 

“I thought I told you,” Luhan sneers back at him, black eyes unblinking “I never leave.”

“Jongin’s gonna think I’m crazy if you stay any longer,” Kyungsoo sits up, rubbing sleep from his eyes. “You’re hard to ignore sometimes.”

He pulls on underwear, fully intending on joining Jongin in the kitchen, directing him around his kitchen just to bother him, knowing full well that Jongin can find everything on his own.

“I don’t like it when you ignore me,” Kyungsoo resumes his habit of walking through Luhan as he tries to block the door. “I don’t like it when you ignore me for him.”

But Kyungsoo does ignore Luhan, he takes his place behind Jongin, kissing his shoulder and offering a sleepy good morning, hands tracing his stomach as he enjoys Jongin’s warmth. 

It’s gone a second later, when Luhan phases into Jongin’s body, so it’s his shoulder Kyungsoo is kissing, his arms Kyungsoo is wrapped around. 

Kyungsoo pulls back quickly, lungs tight and short of breath from the cold.

“What’s wrong?” Asks Jongin, concerned. 

“I--- Nothing. Nothing is wrong.” Says Kyungsoo, and he shoots a glare at Luhan as he floats around the ceiling. 

Jongin follows Kyungsoo’s eyes, resting on Luhan. 

“What are you looking at?” He says, worriedly “There’s nothing there.”

“Trick of the light.” Kyungsoo mumbles into his coffee cup, and Luhan cackles maniacally from above.

They link hands across the table, sipping on coffee, playing with each other’s fingers. Luhan swoops down and takes Jongin’s place once more. Kyungsoo is determined not to pull away, despite the extreme cold biting at his fingers. 

Luhan strokes in tandem with Jongin, the temperature raising the hairs on his arms. 

Jongin notices, and starts stroking along the soft skin of Kyungsoo’s forearm, Luhan’s fingers trailing behind them.

“Feels nice.” He sighs, because despite Luhan’s presence, there is the underlying sense of _Jongin Jongin Jongin_ and it’s comforting. 

“I love you.” Says two voices at the same time. Luhan’s black pupils dominate Jongin’s.

“I love you too, Jongin.” Kyungsoo replies, eyes closed to avoid Luhan’s reaction. The cold retreats from his arms, before violently crashing into his entire system. 

He gasps, falling to the floor; he can’t see Luhan but he can feel him in his blood and bones, it’s an agonising intrusion, and when he screams out pain it sounds like Luhan.

Jongin is at his side in an instant, trying to soothe him, calm him as he shakes on the kitchen floor. 

“Don’t touch me!” He screams, and Kyungsoo is confused, because he wants Jongin to touch him, wants to feel the warmth in his ice cold bones.

He opens his eyes, wincing in pain, and everything is in black and white. Kyungsoo stands on shaky legs, clinging to the arm of a confused Jongin as he makes his way to the sink, dry heaving as Jongin rubs his back.

“You’re so cold,” Jongin says. “Like ice. Are you sure you’re okay?”

Kyungsoo looks into the reflective surface of the kitchen sink and sees Luhan’s ghostly face overlaying his own. He looks on in terror while Luhan just smirks, unnervingly. 

Throwing himself to the floor, Kyungsoo screams. It’s his voice this time and he begins hitting his head with his fists, on the the table, on the linoleum.

“Get out!” He yells, blood and tears running down his face, “Get out of my head!”

Jongin tries to pull him away, tries to calm him once more but Kyungsoo is hysterical, throwing himself around the kitchen in a fit, hitting himself and yelling wildly. He slumps to the ground, defeated, surrounded by ruined kitchenware and wounds on his head, Kyungsoo lies motionless. 

Jongin makes towards him, worried, hurriedly. 

“Are you okay?” Jongin asks, “C’mon ‘Soo, answer me.”

Kyungsoo doesn’t respond, and for a moment lies motionless. He begins to rise chest first from the ground, as if pulled by invisible strings. His feet drag across the floor, hovering. The blood from his face filters down through his hair, leaving tiny droplets in his wake. 

Jongin stands still, unsure, terrified.

Kyungsoo’s head snaps upwards, violently, his eyes are open and they’re black, pure black and they pierce into his soul.

“He never wanted you here.” Kyungsoo says, voice monotone. Jongin swears he can hear another voice, like two people speaking at once. _I never wanted you here_ , it says to him.

“You were nothing to me _(to him)_ and now you’re everything to me _(to him)_.” His voice is loud, still monotone, staring blankly at Jongin with black eyes as that voice whispers, in his head, yet still managing to echo around the room.

“I WON’T LET YOU TAKE HIM FROM ME!!” Kyungsoo screeches, high pitched, the parts of the kitchen not destroyed in panic shake dangerously. It’s not him that speaks, it’s the voice. There’s no shred of Kyungsoo left. 

He’s still hovering, turning his back on Jongin and reaching towards the counter; a large kitchen knife lies on the counter and Kyungsoo picks it up, turning on Jongin.

“You know,” The voice dictates from Kyungsoo’s mouth, “he’s been awfully obsessed with red lately.”

Kyungsoo continues to hover, black eyes glinting as Jongin scrambles back, through the kitchen and into the living room. He’s stopped by the coffee table, eyes wide with fear as Kyungsoo effortlessly glides across the floor.

“I wonder if he’ll like the art I make from you?” Says the voice, and then all Jongin can feel is pain.

He stares down at the knife embedded in his chest with disbelief, trickles of blood escaping the wound; he coughs, blood spilling from his lips as he stares at Kyungsoo.

“Why…” Jongin trails off, vision blurring.

“Because you took him from me” The voice says. Jongin can only feel pain.

The light drains from Jongin’s eyes as the light is restored to Kyungsoo’s, Luhan hovers around the ceiling, giggling to himself.

Kyungsoo falls to the ground with a thud and a pained cry, he tries to stand but his vision is still blurred, and there’s a substance on the floor that prevents him from gripping. It’s warm, thick and the pungent smell tickles his nose. 

Sight finally restoring and warmth seeping into his bones, Kyungsoo brings his hand to his face, observing the red liquid. His stomach drops at the sight of blood. 

He spins on his hands and knees, searching desperately for the source. His stomach begins to churn, and he turns away from the sight before vomiting. Behind his eyelids he sees Jongin’s body, covered in blood and still resting on the coffee table. The image is burnt there as he blinks.

Gripping at the carpet he drags himself forward, running his hands along the blood stained chest of his lover, the deep cuts carved into his stomach, the slit along his throat. The knife still lodged in his heart. 

Blood floods into his mouth as he sobs into Jongin’s chest, kissing his lips, whispering prayers to a God he doesn’t believe in; anything, anything to bring Jongin back.

“You like red?” Luhan says cheerily from above,”I gave you red.” This time, it’s Kyungsoo who wails loudly, still gripping onto Jongin as he cries desperately. 

Luhan lands with a soft thud, peering down to observe his work. 

“I think he’s our greatest piece yet.”

“You killed him!” Kyungsoo screams “You fucking killed him!”

“And you wanted a muse!” Luhan yells back, “You wanted art and I gave you art. This is what you wanted!” 

“I didn’t want any of this!”

The blood on the floor disappears, and Jongin is gone. His house is free of gore, of Jongin’s corpse. All traces of Jongin have disappeared. 

“How about this?” Luhan asks. “It’s like he was never here.” 

“I don’t want this either!” Yells Kyungsoo, sizing up to Luhan. “You can make him disappear, so you can make him come back.”

He collapses on the floor.

“Just… bring Jongin back...please.” 

There’s a soothing hand on his back, and Kyungsoo looks up to see Jongin, arm outstretched to help him up. There’s still cuts marring the flesh of his chest, his eyes are glassy and unblinking, the knife still in his chest. Jongin is still dead, but yet, he is with Kyungsoo.

Luhan passes through Kyungsoo, cold as always. He expects this, but he doesn’t expect Jongin to do the same. 

“Choose.” They say, one in each ear. Hands on each arm. “Choose.” Luhan’s voice is hysterical, while Jongin’s is calm, collected.

“I choose Jongin.” Kyungsoo says immediately, and the two phase out from his body. 

The wounds on Jongin’s chest transfer over to Luhan, one at a time, black seeping out of his cuts and onto the floor. Luhan looks at Kyungsoo with such a pained, heartbroken expression as the slit across his neck is drawn. 

The knife embeds itself in Luhan’s heart. 

There’s a soft sob before he fades away.

✄✄✄

“I like this one,” Says Jongin, looking over his shoulder. “Almost like a Rorschach Test, right?” 

“Mmm,” Kyungsoo hums, staring at the canvas in front of him while tucking his favourite paint brush behind his ear. Jongin laughs while wiping the red smudge from his cheek with a rag.

“I’ve gone in a new direction,” He says, “Red hues and meanings to be decided upon by critics.”

“You just want them to fight, don’t you? See who has the most creative interpretation.”Jongin throws the rag at him, Kyungsoo laughs. Domestic bliss.

“Maybe.” Kyungsoo says, poking out his tongue. “What do you see?”

“A...face?” He squints hard at the painting. “I see my face.”

“So narcissistic.” Kyungsoo says, and Jongin just looks into his eyes, lovingly, affectionately.

“I’ll go get you some coffee,” He says softly “So keep creating.”

Jongin places his hand on Kyungsoo’s neck as he walks away, it seems to sink into the skin.

It’s cold.

Kyungsoo shivers.


End file.
